Feels Like Home
by Linwe Elendil
Summary: Post-Serenity. How do you continue after losing everything?


Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Firefly or Serenity. If I did, I would be doing everything in my power to get the show back on the air!

This was just begging to be written. There were a few parts about the ending of the movie that I was unhappy with, so – with typical fanfic author hubris – I expanded on them. It's my first Firefly fic. I hope I did all right…

Side note: The next to last quote is something the Operative asks Mal in one of the movie's deleted scenes. It fit, so I added it in.

* * *

"_**Think she'll hold together?"**_

"_**She's tore up plenty. But she'll fly true."**_

Zoë took a knife to the mattress, stabbing deep into her memories. How much of her life had she avoided feeling? How long had she lived with the coldness that again choked her? Career army. That's what she was. She'd always known the risks. Never let anyone get too close. They might not be there tomorrow. But Wash was different. He'd actually made her feel ill at ease from the moment they met. Until she caught him playing with his gorram plastic dinosaurs.

To say that she'd never laughed so hard in her whole life was the 'verse's biggest understatement. The Captain had even come running – gun at the ready. Looking back, she supposed she must have sounded like she was being strangled as she gasped for breath. Wash had stiffened in surprise, his back to her, and turned slowly to look in her eyes. She hadn't been able to make out his features well – tears of mirth had obstructed her vision.

But the tears that streamed down her face now were born of a grief that no one should ever have to feel. Grief for a future lost. She sobbed again, wrapping her arms around her chest in a vain effort to stop the agony.

"Baby… why did you go away? What am I supposed to do without you?"

Arms wrapped around her, rocking her in the darkness. Zoë kept her eyes shut tight – not wanting to know who had come. She didn't want to walk on eggshells around anyone. Maybe she could even salvage some of her dignity if they just kept quiet.

"Little one… Why hide from the sun?" The song was so soft that Zoë was sure she must be imagining it. "The day is waning, but your time's not done." The voice grew stronger, and Zoë knew she wasn't dreaming. "So come and play, until end of day. Though I have to leave you, in your heart I'll stay." River's soft soprano voice faded, as did Zoë's sobs. She was utterly spent, but her heart still beat. _Survived again,_ she thought bitterly. _Why? What's left in the gorram universe for me?_

Zoë felt River's arms slip away, and she slumped against the foot of the bed.

"You were right," River whispered. "The two of you would have made one beautiful baby. Beautiful boy." Zoë's jaw dropped in shock. "I wish I could've met him."

A gentle rustle of fabric was the only indication that River had left, but Zoë couldn't move. She had all but forgotten about that conversation with Wash. Their baby would never be born now.

But perhaps there was something else. For as long as she'd known Wash, they'd cared for Serenity. Fixed her, flown her, loved her. She was their home – the one place left in the world that held a bit of her husband's spirit. They had all put so much of themselves into this ship.

Exhausted beyond feeling, Zoë climbed up into the bed, holding her husband's pillow over her heart. It still had his scent, and she breathed deeply as the soft movements of the ship began to rock her to sleep. Serenity wasn't Wash, and she wasn't their child.

But she was close enough.

**xXx**

"_**Ready to get off this heap – back to civilized life?"**_

"_**I, uh… I don't know."**_

"_**Good answer."**_

"Mal?"

He had come to report that they would be reaching the training house in two days time, but she couldn't bear the thought of him leaving. He was all she'd thought about for the last few weeks. That he could be such an easy distraction infuriated her, but she found herself missing his presence when he went off to fix each new problem that had come up. In the end, loneliness won out over anger, and she searched for something to say that would keep him with her – even for just a few more moments.

The captain turned to face her. "Yeah."

"There's something… I've been meaning to tell you."

His face gave nothing away. No matter how skilled she was at reading men, Malcolm Reynolds was a perpetual mystery. It was one of the many things that she found infuriating about the man.

Or maybe it was one of the things she loved.

"What's on your mind?" he asked, his hands hooked on his belt.

"You remember… That business with Saffron?"

He winced slightly, unable to totally cover his chagrin. "How can I forget?" Inara looked up at him through her thick eyelashes. "Really, though. If you know any way I can just erase that whole chapter outta my head, hope you'd be kind enough to pass that information along." Inara smiled, inwardly rolling her eyes.

"I wish I did know of something… Then we could both make use of it. There's nothing about my interaction with that woman that I'd like to retain." She saw the corners of his mouth slide infinitesimally upward.

"Nothin', huh?" He took a step toward her. "Not even that… kiss?"

Inara did her best to look serious as she took a step in his direction. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Mal – "

He held up a hand. "As much as I'm sure Jayne would _love_ to hear details – it's not really my thing, Inara."

She raised her eyebrows, struggling to control her temper – a feat around him. "Would you please let me finish?" She stepped again.

"Alright," he replied, taking a step of his own. His hands dropped to his sides – he had caught on that she wasn't joking here. That was good.

"You were right when you guessed that I didn't bump my head," she began.

"Yeah… You're much too graceful for that." Another step.

"But I didn't kiss Saffron." This made Mal pause, and Inara took advantage of his confusion to close the remaining distance between them. She looked up into his eyes. "I _was_ drugged, but not by kissing her."

"Then how…?" She could almost hear the wheels turning in his head, and decided to spare him.

"I kissed _you_ Mal."

"You… what?" His eyebrows furrowed together.

"I was so worried when Saffron called herself Malcolm Reynolds' widow that I had to make sure you were okay." Mal was still frozen in shock. She reached out and took his hand. "When I found you in your quarters, you weren't moving. I was scared, and I tried to wake you up, but I couldn't. Then you groaned. I was so relieved you were alive, that I…" She stared down at their feet – scant inches apart.

"You kissed me," he murmured. "That's how you…?"

She nodded. "I managed to call for the doctor before the drug hit me, but I must have passed out right next to you."

"Figures," Mal muttered, "The one time you kiss me, and I'm out like a light. The 'verse just isn't fair."

"No, it's not," she agreed. "If everything was fair, Wash and Shepherd Book would still be alive. Reavers would never have existed. The Alliance never would have started a war – "

"And we never would've met." Mal's quiet whisper brought her eyes back to his. There was something in them that she had never seen there before. It wasn't desire – she was too experienced to fail in recognizing that. But, perhaps… hope? He reached his arms out slowly, hesitating. As if afraid she would scare him away, she kept her movements measured when his hands found her waist, drawing her closer. "Inara…" he began. Her control snapped when he whispered her name and she threw pretense aside, abruptly reaching up and grasping the collar of his shirt with two hands. She pulled, forcing his face down to hers. His eyes widened – a mesmerizing pool of passion and longing.

"Mal, shut up and kiss me."

He did.

**xXx**

"_**So, you gonna ride shotgun with me, help me fly?"**_

"_**That's the plan."**_

"_**It ain't all buttons and charts, little albatross."**_

I love watching him with the ship. Like a lover, a father, a husband, a son. Kind, gentle to her. Hopes nobody else will see. But I see. I see everything. I have to. But now it doesn't hurt so much. Not since Miranda.

When he's gone – thinking about Inara – the ship feels empty, like she's sleeping. I still don't want to think about dreams. Grab my hair, tear it out, scream and shout… Know it won't make me feel better, so I don't bother. Wander instead. Wandering works. Sometimes.

He called me an albatross. Does that mean I'm the stone around their necks?

"Ah! well a-day! what evil looks

Had I from old and young!

Instead of the cross, the Albatross

About my neck was hung.

"One after one, by the star-dogged Moon,  
Too quick for groan or sigh,  
Each turned his face with a ghastly pang,  
And cursed me with his eye.

"Four times fifty living men,  
(And I heard nor sigh nor groan)  
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,  
They dropped down one by one."

Reavers, bleeding. Old men covered in blood… Simon wouldn't let me in the ship again until Wash's body was gone. As if more blood would upset me. But it did. Snuck in and stood behind the pilot seat. A large hole, rimmed with blood. Wash's blood. He was nice to me – argued against killing me, even though it meant his life.

Should've put a bullet to me long ago.

I'm crying now. Don't know why. Not my grief.

My head hurts. Someone's screaming inside it.

Zoë.

Have to go see her. Don't know what to do. But I need the screaming to stop. Idea from the dark place – send her to Wash. Can't do it! Not mercy. Murder. I shut the door on the dark place as I climb down Zoë's ladder.

I hold her until both our crying stops. Sing her something. Old lullaby, I think. I don't know. I never know what I'm saying.

No more screaming. Deep breath, wander some more.

So much love on the ship. I can feel it brush past me with the current of oxygen. Simon and Kaylee, Mal and Inara, even echoes of Zoë and Wash. All in love. All together. Except for me.

And Jayne. I laugh. He will probably always be alone.

Like me.

I'm broken, after all.

Guess I can't fly in calm weather. Just like an albatross. Good that Simon and I are staying on Serenity. Zoë was right – the ride is bumpy.

Maybe then I can soar.

**xXx**

"**Serenity. You lost everything in that battle. Everything you had. Everything you were. How did you go on?"**

Mal crept out of the shuttle, fervently hoping no one had noticed how long ago he'd gone in. He tried to walk casually through the corridors – as always – but he couldn't stop a wide grin from spreading across his face. Inara loved him; a quiet whisper as she lay in his arms that had sent his world spinning. Even in the worst battles he'd never felt so alive. As if he was the one flying, not Serenity.

Bypassing his cabin, Mal walked up the stairs to the bridge and sat in the new pilot's chair. His hands ran over the controls as his smile faltered. Setting his jaw, he watched as a parade of the dead ran before his eyes, and the Operative's question came back to him.

It had been a simple matter at first. When the dust had settled, he'd still been breathing. That was the key. Keep breathing. Next comes one foot after another – you can't stay in the middle of a battle field and hope to breathe much longer, even if the fight is over. Sooner or later someone's gonna come collecting the dead, and you don't want to be mistaken for a corpse. Even if you feel like one. After that, it's a simple matter of fighting the numbness that spreads through your limbs, tricks you into forgetting to eat. Don't bother with sleep – unless you've got some nice drugs on hand. Anything less than a coma, and you'll wake up screaming.

But it wasn't until he'd first seen Serenity that Mal knew he'd been sleeping for a long time. The ship called to him – a derelict wreck in the middle of the desert. She told him it was time to wake up. To find a purpose in life again. He never could have imagined all that Serenity would eventually bring him. Friends. Family. Not success – not by a long shot – but success didn't keep you breathing. Only one thing does. And it was the same thing that'd kept Serenity in the air.

"_**Know what the first rule of flying is? Love. You can learn all the math in the 'verse, but you take a boat in the air that you don't love – she'll shake you off just as sure as a turn of the worlds. Love keeps her in the air when she ought to fall down – tells you she's hurtin' before she keels. **_

"_**Makes her a home."**_

* * *

Well, what did you think?

And no, River's song isn't real. Well, except for what I heard in my head as I wrote it. Haunting, but pretty at the same time. Fitting for River to sing. I just wish you could hear it, too…


End file.
